Gimme the keys

I went shopping for an electric piano last night, which for a guy who's played piano on and off for 25 years was an amazingly big step. I played a lot of classical piano growing up. It really wasn't too awful, but the performances I had to do in front of family Thanksgiving gatherings were pretty mortifying. Towards the end of college I remember this exchange with my mom at a brunch, with something like "Moon River" playing on a piano in the background:
"Eric, why can't you play anything like that? I always wished you could play like that."
"Because I've been taking classical lessons. If you wanted me to play stuff by Henry Mancini [which would have gone over better at Thanksgiving], why didn't you send me to a teacher that would have taught that kind of stuff?"
"Well, because classical teachers were easier to find."
Wow. I don't think Vladimir Horowitz ever had that conversation with his mom. Still, while I was good, it's not like I was on my way to Julliard. Going into college I still loved music, but I realized I barely even listened to classical and I associated modern piano with crushed velvet, Nordstrom's and Elton John. Plus if I was going to be some kind of musical artist, I wanted to play something I chose and made work. 8 years later, now that I own "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", I've realized something after several attempts at a handful of stringed and wind instruments: My musical mind speaks piano. I'm a sort of Arnold Schwarzenegger of music. No matter how hard I try to learn the lanuguage of another instrument, I can't hide my native tongue. So I'm jumping in and enjoying my original instrument for a change and taking advantage of what I have already in me. But just like I'll never learn "Losing My Religion" on the mandolin, I'll never play anything by Billy Joel.